


Deeper Wounds

by Jo (jmathieson)



Series: Tangents and Intersections ~ Kink Bingo 2013 [70]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Community: kink_bingo, Cutting, Established Relationship, Ghosts, Jossed, Knives, M/M, Nightmares, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Rough Sex, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil's physical recovery is proceeding well, but his psychological recovery is just beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deeper Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> Kink Bingo Round Six (2013) ~ Bloodplay
> 
> Author's Note: This story isn't anywhere near as horrific as the tags make it look, but please beware of your triggers.

Phil woke up shaking and blinked, trying to see the room around him. Trying to banish the images that were still hanging in front of his eyes. He reached for Clint, putting one hand on a warm arm to counter the chill he felt. He put his other hand over the scars on his chest, trying to let the steady thump of his repaired heart reassure him.

Clint rolled over and opened his eyes.

"Nightmare?" he asked quietly.

"Yes."

"C'mere." Clint pulled Phil onto his chest and wrapped strong, warm arms around him. "Do you want the lights on?"

"I..."

"JARVIS, lights to 30% please." Clint felt Phil still trembling and squeezed him tighter and kissed the top of his head. "Same one?"

Phil nodded against his chest.

Nightmares were nothing new for either of them. Clint dreamed about his parents, and about the circus. About The Swordsman and Trickshot and Barney. About some of the things he had done while he was working... freelance, and about some of the things he had seen since he joined SHIELD. 

Phil dreamed about Iraq and Somalia and Afghanistan. About missions gone wrong and people dying under his command. About Clint with blue eyes and an ice cold heart. Lately, though, he'd been dreaming about the aftermath of being stabbed by Loki. He'd been dreaming about being dead, and waking up cold and shaking. 

"It's getting worse," Phil said quietly, his breathing starting to even out as he pressed close into Clint's warmth.

"What can I do?" Clint asked.

"Kiss me. Touch me. Make love to me, Clint, make me feel alive."

Clint kissed him, hard. Threaded one hand into his hair and stroked the other down his flank. Rolled him over, covering Phil's body with his own, surrounding him with his heat and his scent and his love. Opened him gently. Fucked him roughly. Held him tightly while he came, gasping. Kissed him softly.

"Better?" Clint asked, when they were lying tangled together, sweaty and spent.

Phil closed his eyes. He started to shake again.

"JARVIS, increase the room temperature five degrees." Clint pulled Phil back into his arms and tucked the blankets around them both. He shushed Phil's protests and kissed him again, their faces inches apart.

"Phil, please. Tell me. Tell me all of it."

Phil sighed, and started to talk.

"You know I've been dreaming that I really died, and I'm not really here. That I'm a ghost..."

"Yes."

"And that's pretty... awful. I walk around and no one can see me or hear me, I can't do anything or feel anything. But in the dream part of me is convinced I'm real, that I'm still alive. Even though I know I'm a ghost. It... it doesn't make any sense when I say it out loud."

"It doesn't have to, it's a dream. Dreams are like that."

"Yes. So in the dream I'm trying to prove to myself I'm alive, even though I know I'm dead. So I go to the kitchen and get a knife and cut myself, to prove that I'll bleed, that I'm real. But in the dream, I don't bleed... I can't even feel the cut, all I feel is cold, so cold. That's when I know that I'm really dead. And I start to dissolve, to fade away to nothing... it's... it's the most terrifying feeling."

Clint held him tighter and kissed him again.

"And it's getting worse, lasting longer, and the feeling... the cold, and the feeling that I'm dissolving is staying even after I wake up. That's why... that's why I asked you to..."

"To make love to you. To make you feel alive."

"Did I actually say that out loud?" Phil asked.

"Yeah."

"God. I didn't realize..."

"But it didn't work."

Phil was quiet.

"Phil, it's OK. It's not like I think my dick has magical healing powers or something."

Phil laughed a short bark of laughter and the little knot of fear in Clint's chest loosened a little.

"It helped."

"But not enough. Maybe you should have fucked me instead?" said Clint, thankful that Phil's recovery had finally progressed to a point where that was once again possible. 

"I still feel... cold inside. I think..." Phil stopped again and buried his face in Clint's chest, taking long, slow breaths.

Clint stroked his cheek and kissed the top of his head. "It's OK, whatever it is, you can tell me."

"I know... it's just... Psych would have a field day with this."

"You got stabbed by a god, died, and were brought back to life by a minor surgical miracle. You're allowed to be a little crazy for a while, Phil. Believe me, I know."

"I want to... I think maybe I need to... act out the dream. Next time. Next time it happens, I want to actually get up, and go to the kitchen..." Phil's voice cracked and he stopped, refusing to meet Clint's eyes.

"I think that's a good idea. I want you to do it with me there so that I can make sure you don't hurt yourself. It's not that I don't trust you, you know that right? It's just that - "

"No, it's OK I understand. I want you there. I want you to be there telling me it's real... I'm real... while I'm doing it. I want you to be touching me. I want..."

"What?" Clint whispered, holding him close.

"I can't."

"You can tell me anything Phil. You can ask me for anything. Anything."

"I want... you to touch me... to... touch..."

"To touch you where you’re bleeding."

"Yes," Phil said in a tiny voice, "and... to... fuck."

"Phil, do you want us to have sex?"

"Yes."

"While you're bleeding?"

"Yes."

"OK."

"How could that be OK?"

"It is what it is," he said, and when Phil didn't relax any, "It's OK, Phil. Really. Remember when I had to dig a bullet out of your shoulder with my finger? And how I couldn't stop thinking about how it was like sticking my fingers in your ass, and I got off on it?"

"Yes."

"So. It is what it is."

"Yes. OK."

"I love you Phil."

"I love you too."

"Do you think you're gong to be able to fall back to sleep, or do you want to get up and watch a movie or something?"

"I don't know if I'll be able to sleep, but I'd rather stay here like this."

"OK," Clint said, and tightened his arms around Phil again.

~~~~~

Five days later Clint woke up in the middle of the night as Phil clutched at him, shaking.

"JARVIS, lights to 30%," Clint said as he turned and gathered Phil into his arms.

"Phil, it's OK. I'm here. You're OK. I've got you." Phil didn't stop shaking.

"JARVIS, raise the temperature by 10 degrees."

"Just in the bedroom or throughout, sir?" JARVIS asked quietly.

"Phil. Phil, please look at me." Phil raised his head from where it was tucked into Clint's shoulder.

"Same dream?" Phil nodded.

"Do you... do you want to do what we talked about?"

"Yes." Phil's voice was a harsh whisper. "I want... I need this to stop."

"OK. JARVIS, lights to 50% in the living room and 100% in the kitchen, and raise the temperature everywhere, please. Phil, I'm going to follow your lead. You tell me what you need me to do, OK? You know I'll do anything you need, right?"

"Yes. I love you, Clint."

"I love you too."

Phil squeezed his arms around Clint once, tightly, and then let go and sat up.

"I'm... I'm going to go to the kitchen. Follow me."

"OK."

Phil padded naked through their suite, straight into the kitchen, and then stood near the counter, hesitating.

Clint opened a cupboard and reached to the back of it. He put a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a package of cotton balls on the counter.

Phil glanced towards him and then at the knife block on the kitchen counter, which sprouted a dozen handles.

"I, uh... I sharpened and cleaned them all a few days ago, um... I didn't know which..."

Phil's hand hovered uncertainly. Clint put his own hand on Phil's shoulder.

"It's OK, Phil, I'm here. Do what you need to do."

"It's... it's not that, it's..." Phil shrugged helplessly at the knife block, not able to explain that something about it didn't feel right. Clint gripped Phil's shoulder tightly and used his other hand to slide open a drawer. He reached in, and then up, and Phil heard the sound of duct tape being torn loose. 

Clint put a sheathed knife on the counter. It was one of his own custom blades. Clint had them made by a local craftsman to his exact specifications, and bought a dozen a year. He wore one hanging from the belt of his tac suit and used it for everything from peeling an apple to piercing the eye of an enemy. Phil had seen this knife, or one exactly like it, in Clint's hands more times that he could ever count. He'd held one of them himself less than a half-dozen times in the seven years they'd known each other. 

Clint drew the knife out of its sheath and lay it on the counter.

"Just... if you want."

"Thank you." Phil looked up into Clint's eyes, "For understanding, for doing this with me..."

"Anything you need, Phil, anything I can give you, always. I love you."

"I love you too." Phil gave him a weak smile and picked up the knife.

Clint reached for the bottle of alcohol. "I..."

"Go ahead."

Clint quickly opened the bottle, tipped some onto a cotton ball, and disinfected both sides of the blade. He put the supplies back on the counter.

"OK."

"OK."

Phil held the knife in his right hand and looked at his left forearm. 

"In the dream, I cut myself here," Phil reached up with his left hand to indicate the left side of his chest, "but in the dream, I'm... I'm kinda seeing things from the outside at the same time, as I'm doing them... I think maybe it would be better to do it here," he gestured at his left forearm with the point of the knife, "so that I can see it properly." 

"Whatever you say, Phil."

"Touch me, please. Put your hand on my hip."

"Sure." They were standing next to each other, facing the kitchen counter. Clint laid his right hand on Phil's left hip. Phil rested his left arm on the kitchen counter. He held the blade of Clint's knife poised just above his skin, an inch below his Ranger tattoo.

"Hold my hand."

Clint put his left hand in Phil's. Phil gripped tightly for a minute.

"I'm terrified."

"Of what?"

"Of not bleeding."

"You're going to bleed, Phil. You're alive, your heart is pumping blood around your body. When you cut yourself, you're going to bleed, I promise."

Phil looked up at Clint, and Clint looked into Phil's eyes. They looked a little bit glazed, as if Phil wasn't entirely present. As if part of his mind was still living the dream he'd just woken from. 

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Phil mouth quirked into half a smile.

"OK then." He looked back down at his arm, lowered the blade, and sliced.

For a moment, everything was suspended. The blade of the knife immobile in Phil's hand at the end of the stroke, neither of them daring to move or breathe.

Blood trickled.

Phil hissed in a breath, and then sighed. Clint gripped his hand tightly, and Phil gripped back, causing more blood to flow.

"Touch it. Clint, please, let me see you touch it." Clint could see that Phil's knuckles were white on the hilt of the knife, they weren't out of the woods yet. Phil was still keyed up, still afraid.

Clint moved the hand that was on Phil's hip, not willing to let go of Phil's hand, and laid two fingers in the middle of the shallow wound, then dragged them down a little ways, smearing the blood.

"It's real, Phil. You're bleeding. You're alive, and you're bleeding."

"Yes." Phil's voice wasn't quite right and panic rose in Clint's guts. He was suddenly terrified that he'd handled this wrong, that he should have gone to SHIELD Psych rather than agreeing to help Phil act out his dream...

"Yes. But I think I still need the other one too." The knife moved away from Phil's arm and towards his chest.

"In the dream, I cut myself here, but I don't bleed. And I can't feel it. I need to feel it."

Clint took a deep breath, his fingers still on the shallow cut on Phil's forearm. 

"OK, Phil. But that's it. After that, we're done, right?"

"Yes." Phil nodded, "I need to feel it here," he said, moving the point of the knife, Clint’s knife, closer to the skin above his left nipple, "and then it will be OK." 

Clint looked into Phil's taut face, and desperately hoped that he was doing the right thing.

"I love you Phil," he said, trying to convey every ounce of warmth he could.

"I love you too, Clint. I... I couldn't do this without you."

"I'm right here. Anything you need, always," Clint promised, gripping Phil's hand more tightly and hoping the words that were now a familiar mantra for them both would help to ground Phil in reality.

Phil nodded.

He laid the edge of the blade on his chest, across the neat surgical scars and the rough ones from Loki's spear, and sliced again. 

"Ouch," Phil said softly.

"Phil?" Clint slowly, carefully moved his hand from where his fingers were resting on the wound on Phil's forearm and put his hand around Phil's on the hilt of the knife. Together they lowered the knife to the counter. Clint opened his hand. 

"Please Phil, drop the knife."

Phil's hand unclenched and the blade clattered to the counter. Clint sighed in relief.

Clint put his hand on Phil's chest.

"You're bleeding here too, now. Do you want to see?"

"I can feel it. It stings."

"That's good, right?"

"Yes. Clint..."

"What do you need, Phil? Tell me what you need."

"Touch it. So I can feel it more."

Clint put his hand to the slice on Phil's chest. He pressed the pads of four fingers lightly to the wound.

"Can you feel that?"

"Yes. Yes. I can feel it." Phil smiled. "Kiss me?"

Phil's voice still didn't sound quite right. His expressions and movements were still slow and dream-like. Clint was scared, but he needed to give Phil everything, anything he could to help... He leaned forward. Phil's lips met his and were warm and wet and wanting. Clint's fears eased.

"Bed?" he suggested, when they broke apart.

Phil nodded. They left the knife on the counter. Clint wondered briefly about antiseptic, but he knew the cuts were shallow and the knife had been clean... Phil would be fine. It would be fine. Phil's emotional state was much more important now.

Phil kissed him again, then closed strong fingers around his wrist and led him back to the bedroom. He stopped beside the bed, and pulled Clint into his arms and kissed him again.

"I love you."

"And I love you. Tell me what you need, Phil."

"Is it... Is it OK if I fuck you?"

"Of course it is. I would love that, Phil."

"Even with..." Phil glanced down at where the blood was still trickling from his chest and his arm.

"It's fine. We've gotten way messier than this, before."

"Yes, we have, haven't we?" Phil smiled fondly and Clint relaxed a little. He flopped backwards on the bed, grinning up at Phil as he climbed on top of him.

"I'm going to want to fuck you hard," Phil warned.

"Hard as you want, Phil. You know I love it."

Phil kissed him hard, and then moved his mouth along Clint's jaw to his shoulder and bit. Clint bucked up into Phil, and moaned. He had always loved it when Phil bit him, from the very first time that they had ever had sex, feeling Phil's teeth on his skin went straight to Clint's dick and set him on fire. His dick was hard and he thrust up into Phil's body, trying to show his lover how much he wanted this, how turned on he was, how ready and accepting he was of what they were doing together.

Phil dipped his head down to Clint's chest and captured a nipple between his lips, licking and sucking hard. Clint moaned again. 

"Phil. God, I want you. I want you so much." Clint flailed for the nightstand with one hand and managed to open a drawer and find a bottle of lube. Phil kissed him again, roughly, and took it out of his hand.

"Is minimal prep OK?" Phil asked, growling the words into the side of Clint's neck before nipping again with his teeth.

"Yes. God, yes. Anything you want Phil. Anything you need."

"Need to fuck you. Need to fuck you hard and fast and soon." Phil was fumbling with the cap on the bottle and got it open. He squeezed some out onto two fingers and delved between Clint's asscheeks with them.

Clint gasped as Phil's two fingers breached his hole, but then he thrust down hard with his hips, taking them all the way. Clint pressed his own fingers to the trickling cut on Phil's chest. Phil hissed and then moaned.

"Anything you need, Phil. I'm yours. Anything you need."

Phil added a third finger and pressed and twisted, stretching Clint roughly but thoroughly.

"Gonna fuck you now, Clint. Gonna fuck you hard."

Clint pulled his knees up and out, giving Phil complete access. Phil positioned himself, his stiff dick nudging at Clint's hole, and then buried himself in one hard thrust.

Phil stopped, buried deep inside Clint, looking down at him, breathing harshly. Blood trickled down his forearm from the cut there. Blood dripped from the wound on his chest, the drops splattering Clint.

Phil's eyes, staring into Clint's, were suddenly clear, and entirely Phil's. 

"Are you OK?" Phil asked.

"I'm good, Phil. I love you. I'm fine. I want you."

Phil took a deep breath in, and then let it out. Another drop of blood dripped from his chest.

"Thank you. For giving me what I needed."

"Always, Phil. Always. Now fuck me, dammit."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks always to my excellent editors t! and Shazrolane.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at: [Queen of Wands](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/)


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